He hides between the bins for a moment and lights a fag. It’s raining, so the juices from the rubbish flow into the holes of his shoes. At this point, there’s no point in caring. The echoing of the clock gets louder in his head as he knows his cig break is close to being over. Despite his ears feeling like they might snap off in the wind, his face is bright red from running around carrying dirty plates and pulling pints. It would be impossible to know how many people’s food he’s spat in though he tries to count it when passing the time. The cigarette burns his fingers but he puts it to his lips again in an attempt to squeeze out one more puff. Unsuccessful. Someone starts opening the backdoor so he leans further back to camouflage amongst the compost and recycling. They call out his name and, overtaken by a new spirit, he chooses to stay silent. Hidden from view, he stopped existing. Undetected by the state of the art surveillance, this marked the start of a stateless life. What to do with this newfound freedom? Leaving the broken shoes to mark the spot he was reborn, he seized the opportunity to run. Guided only by streetlights; what he was seeking was unruly and true. All the while the rain never stopped but neither did he. Flooded streets did not deter his journey, for he began to swim – butterfly stroke, backstroke, breaststroke. Repeatedly plunging into the cold water, he felt that this is what it meant to be human.